Tynan had gauged the situation more correctly than Ted. Reckoning overmuch on the prestige of British arms, Munro had calculated that the removal of the civilians to the fort would be an easy matter. Most of the disloyal sepoys had disappeared, having scattered in order to loot the shops and the European bungalows. They were now returning by twos and threes, some laden with plunder, others savage and sullen through disappointment, having found the bungalows deserted and the coveted jewels and money saved from their clutches.
“Here comes that scoundrel Pir Baksh,” said Lowthian as the Moslem subadar appeared on the scene. He began to shout some commands unintelligible to the watchers on the walls, and soon succeeded in forming the scattered groups into a dense throng.
“I always detested that fellow,” Lowthian continued, “and I believe he’s at the bottom of this dastardly business.”
“He’s got Miss Woodburn’s horse too!” Ted cried in an excited voice, as he recognized the bay. “Look! he’s pointing towards the fort It’s our turn now!”
Pir Baksh was haranguing the sepoys, gesticulating wildly, first towards the strong white building in which the Europeans had taken shelter, and then in the direction of the frowning fortress whose guns commanded Aurungpore, and the air was filled with shouts of “Din, Din, Allah Akbar!”[1]
[1] “The Faith,” or “For our Faith, God is Great.”
“They’re coming at us,” Tynan whispered. There was no need to whisper, for the fact was only too evident. The impressive nature of the peril had made him unconsciously lower his voice.
“Are the guns loaded?” he added, nodding towards the half-dozen cannon, whose grim black muzzles stared through the embrasures.
“No, and it would take us an hour to load them,” Lowthian replied.
As a measure of precaution, all munitions for the cannon had been stored within the arsenal.